


Sunday Trilogy, Part 1 - Sunday Night

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-22
Updated: 2003-01-22
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: An examination of one part of Walter Skinner's psyche





	Sunday Trilogy, Part 1 - Sunday Night

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Sunday Trilogy, Part 1 - Sunday Night

## Sunday Trilogy, Part 1 - Sunday Night

### by Raven

**DISCLAIMER:**  
The characters within these stories belong to Fox, 1013, CC et al. There is no profit made or intended from these stories, and they should be considered as being for entertainment purposes only. 

FEEDBACK greatly appreciated as long as it's friendly. Life's too short to waste it on flames. Thanks. 

**WARNING:**  
This snippet features explicit descriptions of an erotic spanking. 

More of my stories can be found at the Sinful Shack right here: <http://gaby.slashcity.tv/>

XxXxXxXxX 

Walter Skinner closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the soft groan seemed to echo in his ears. He paused, feeling the hot skin under his palm, simply letting his hand rest where it had so recently fallen. The muscles tensed under the weight, and he couldn't resist slapping the firm flesh again, feeling the instinctive, protective clench, grinning just a bit as the globes relaxed again. 

He looked at the reddened skin, his loving handiwork, eyeing it critically, the way an artist would judge a work in progress. Yes, it was time. There was a quiver of nervous anticipation as he reached for the brush, the wide oval back with its dark veneer gleaming threateningly in the low light of the bedroom. Yes, it was definitely time to take things to another level. 

He ran a surprisingly gentle hand over the intended target, a fair though unnecessary warning, before drawing back and smacking hard with the brush. A very satisfying jerk, a low groan, a distinct catch in the breath. Again. 

He loved this part, loved taking the already sore flesh and shocking it with a fierce application of sting and heat, loved the reactions that quickly moved body and soul beyond determined control straight to a hard-won, much needed honesty. After this part there would be no lies, no stony facades, not a trace of anything but deep, vocal need. 

Desire was pitching him higher now, the sound of almost tearful gasps and loud cracks fueling him. He was still careful, of course, but he was losing himself in the sharp repetition, in the hard punishment so mercifully meted out, not for infraction, but for leisure and lust...and for love. That had been the hardest part, acknowledging that each spank was not just a kiss, but a benediction, a prayer for healing and happiness and joy fulfilled. 

He reached down, finding the hardness he knew would be waiting, feeling the almost pleading push into his hand. His fingers closed around the already slick skin, smearing the essence with his thumb, feeling the resulting thrust, and he loosened his grasp. That brought a sound of frustration but Walter ignored it with a smile, knowing how much better it would be for just a little more teasing, a little more fuel for a fire that needed no more kindling, only a spark. 

He gave it, reaching for a small tube and carefully anointing one long finger. There was a hungry sigh as he gently parted the burning cheeks, seeking the vulnerable opening that yielded to him so readily. He heard the long, low keening that always accompanied entrance, and closed his eyes as the sound took him desperately close to the edge. 

He waited a heartbeat, three, and then closed his fist around the desperate cock, even as he withdrew and thrust back, making sure to angle his finger just right. Twice more, and with a single stroke of his fist, the passion released. The stillness of the room was broken by loud sobs and cries, the sound of a man both giving everything up and being gifted with it all back. The sound never failed to move him, and this time was no exception, his heart aching for the source of that sound, knowing what made this so very necessary, and saddened by the knowledge. 

After a few moments of quiet shuddering, he reached up, wiping the tears from his face. He took the cloth he'd laid out earlier, washing first his face, then his stomach, cleaning himself carefully. He sighed, walking away from the mirror to lie down on his bed, one arm over his eyes, though the room was almost dark by now. His backside protested, but he ignored it, no longer needing the pain, so he no longer acknowledged it. Later he would put the long-handled brush away, clean the bedside table without really looking at it, refusing to admit even to himself what he was doing. And then it would be over. 

Until the next Sunday night. 

**THE END OF PART 1.**   
  


#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Raven


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